Poems (Holford)/To the Butterfly

by Margaret Holford (1778-1852)

TO THE BUTTERFLY.

 

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Oh! why does my approach alarm thee,
Thou pretty, fluttering, fragile thing?
I do not bear the heart to harm thee,
Then fearless rest thy speckl'd wing:

 How often when oppress'd with sorrow,
Pensive I've mark'd thy gay career,
And long'd that buoyant wing to borrow,
Like thee my careless course to steer!

 And when with thee in fancy soaring
Light sails the visionary mind,
Then grief, and care, and vain deploring,
Earth's cumbrous brood, it leaves behind:

 Then wave thy wing—we'll rise together,
While man, the reptile, crawls below;
We'll float mid golden fields of æther,
And revel 'mid the sun-beam's glow!!

 And when the dewy-mantled even
Summons each weary wing to rest,
With thee I'll quit yon spangled heaven,
To slumber on a rose's breast!

 No! fare thee well! for Fate's dominion
Has bound to earth my dull career;
Go, wave far off thy gaudy pinion,
And leave the wayward murm'rer here!

 Oh! haste away, thou pretty rover,
Nor idly waste thy sunshine hour,
Thy span of bliss shall soon be over,
And summer zephyrs sigh no more!

 And rest my thoughts, till Time unfailing
To me the immortal moment brings,
When I thro' clouds of æther sailing
May wave my everlasting wings!